The Long Silence
by Teddsworth
Summary: After a simple delivery job takes a turn for the worst. A courier rises from the grave to get the most important thing on his mind; Revenge.
1. Ain't that a Kick in the Head

**AN: This is my first Fanfic ever, of all time. It may be good it may be bad, so reviews are appreciated.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own nor will I ever own the Fallout series. That's Bethesda's job not mine.**

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The Courier slowly woke to the sound of what appeared to be two men arguing and the sound of a shovel digging into the earth. He sat up slowly only to find his wrists bound together tightly, almost cutting circulation to his hands. Cursing to himself, he tried in vain to break free from his restraints, but to no avail. "Damnit!" He sighed, he knew that whatever these men were going to do wasn't going to end well for him.

"Look whose waking up over here" said a man with a bandana over his forehead and a mohawk on his head. The Courier looked over at the trio of men in front of him and grew pale, _Great Khans_ , he thought to himself. He looked up at his ambushers and studied them, two Khans flanked a man in a white checkered suit.

"Time to cash out." say Checkered Suit, taking a puff from his cigarette and dropping it unceremoniously to the ground and nodding at the two Khans. ' _This isn't going to end well for me at all_ ,' The Courier thought. Checkered Suit walks closer to me studying me carefully with a look on his face that I can't identify.

"Will you get it over with?" Whines the Khan to Checkered Suit's right. He's a strong looking man with a dark skin color and a murderous glare in his eye.

Checkered Suit looks annoyed before turning to his companion, "Maybe Khans kill people without looking them in the face, but I ain't a fink. Dig?" That made The Courier anxious and pale even more, ' _he said_ _kill_ _?'_ The Courier wasn't a religious one, but he silently prayed to whomever was up there that it wouldn't end like this.

Checkered Suit reached into his pocket and pulled out a small poker chip. The Courier instantly knew what it was, "Why is that chip so important? Why I have to die for a measly platinum chip?" he asked with a bitter tone mixed with a hint of resignation, he knew he wasn't getting out of this one.

"Sorry kid, you ain't worth the time to tell you about my shin-dig going on." He looked a bit smug as he said it, which irked The Courier even more. Checkered suit then pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket and quietly read it to himself, "Courier Six huh? Well the other couriers were easy to find but you had me looking around for you even with the help."

The Courier sighed and lowered his eyes to the ground, after a few depressing seconds he heard Checkered Suit clear his throat and The Courier looked at him. "You made your last delivery kid" he said softly and he pocketed the chip, "sorry you got twisted up in all this scene." He said as he pulled out a beautifully engraved 9mm pistol from his coat.

The Couriers eyed widen as he hears his heart pounding in his ears, but he quickly hides it and stares directly into Checkered Suit's eyes.

"From where your kneeling, it must see like an 18-carat run of bad luck. But the Truth is…" He fired once, hitting The Courier in his lower throat. A searing pain hit The Courier as fell back into the ground on his back fidgeting frantically trying desperately to untie his hands to grab his wound. He coughed up blood and felt in run back into his throat, he tried to not scream from the pain, but he found out he couldn't scream anyway, he just gurgled on his blood.

' _Why am I not unconscious or dead yet!?'_ He screamed in his head, only to hear footsteps walking over to him while he lay on his back writhing in pain. He turned his head slightly to the sound of footsteps, hoping to see an angel to take his away. But his blood turned to ice as he realized he was looking down the barrel of that beautifully engraved gun, behind it he saw a smug looking man in a checkered suit with those Khans laughing behind him.

The Courier tried to say something but gurgled on his blood and he started coughing up blood. Checkered Suit looked down at him, almost taking pity on him. Almost.

"The game was rigged from the start."

And with that the last thing The Courier saw was the flash of a barrel and those last words echoing in his head as he drifted into darkness.


	2. The Witness

**AN: This is my first Fanfic ever, of all time. It may be good it may be bad, so reviews are appreciated.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own nor will I ever own the Fallout series. That's Bethesda's job not mine.**

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Jayden looked around the mountainous terrain that surrounded her. She went prospecting, which she thought was a politer term than scavenging, around north of Goodsprings to see if there was anything worth of value out in these hills.

"Hoped there was a long-forgotten stash of guns and medical supplies." She muttered to herself in the dark night of the Mojave Wasteland. She pulled out her small, reliable pocket watch and lit a small match to see the time accurately in the dark, _9:07._ She knew she should get back to Goodsprings, who knew of the dangers that the Wasteland would throw at her today. ' _Especially since the Deathclaws set up a nest at the rock quarry near Sloan.'_ She though while making a grimace. Deathclaws were her worst mutated animal in the wasteland to deal with, just the thought of the foot-long claws sent shivers down her spine.

With her mind made up quicker than she hoped, she pulled her hood up and slumped her rucksack of 'prospected' over her shoulder, careful not to damage her findings. It was a chilly night, there was a light breeze that occasionally blew sand in her face, but she didn't really care. She just thought of all the caps she could make off this stuff back in New Vegas. But first she would have to try Goodsprings to get a general idea of the worth in her pack. She pulled out a bottle of purified water and took a big gulp, savoring the flavor of pure water instead of that irradiated garbage that some vendors passed for "clean." Frowning at the thought, her mind began to wander as she walked down the hill towards the direction of the small town. She began to think of her family and wondered if they missed her at all. She scoffed at her own thoughts, ' _They practically kicked me out of the house back in New Arroyo.'_ She frowned for a second time and she distantly remembered the door slamming in her ass as her mother and father laughed as she was thrown out of the house.

Her musings were interrupted as she saw a meeting in the distance on a hilltop near the Goodsprings. As she cautiously moved forward, looking to stay out of eyesight from the group, pulling out her binoculars, she saw a very strange sight. Two Great Khans were with a man in a checkered suit, looking at a man slumped over on the ground, his cowboy hay hiding any way of recognizing him.

Her heart sank low when she realized that one Khan was digging a shallow grave, presumably for the man on the ground. She felt bad for the man, but guessed he probably deserved it. The other Khan was arguing with the man in the suit. _'Typical New Vegas types'_ she scoffed in her mind, ' _always with the suits, even far away from the Strip'._ She stayed, instantly intrigued by the sight in front of her, and curious on how it would play out. It was never a common sight to see Khans this far away from Red Rock Canyon, ' _especially after Bitter Springs.'_ She sighed silently, ' _not the NCR's finest moment.'_ Her pity for the Khans was interrupted when she noticed the man on the floor move up and immediately try to escape from what she guessed would be rope holding his hands together. "He's still alive?" she muttered out in disbelief. She was now confused, why were they digging a grave for a man who was still alive? She immediately slapped her forehead when she realized how dumb her question must have sounded.

' _He's going to be executed._ ' She hoped that it would be painless for the man who could not free his hands from the binds and slumped his shoulders. As she watched from her binoculars, she couldn't hear what the man in the checkered suit said but she was interested to know. She zoomed her binoculars further to the small disk that the man in the checkered suit pulled out. ' _Is that a poker chip? That's looks a little too large for a playing chip, plus it's shining a little bit.'_

She was now thoroughly confused as to why he held the chip. The man then pulled out a gun, with her heart jumping a little bit. That was the most beautiful pistol she had ever seen, and she's seen a few in her days of prospecting. The man on the ground spoke some words to the man in the checkered suit. Not sure of what he said, she sat in silence, only listening to the gentle breeze of the Mojave.

She flinches and averts her gaze and the checkered suite guy fires a single shot into the bound man as he falls on his back. She was sure he was dead, but her eyes widen in horror and her hands grip the binoculars back to her head as she sees the man writhing on the ground in intense pain. She now sees his face: light blue eyes widen and focusing in and out, a long scar sprawled down his right cheek. Clean cut, short, dark-brown hair is revealed as his hat falls unceremoniously to the ground behind him.

' _He's still alive!?'_ she exclaimed to herself in horror. She sees the look of intense pain in the man's face and he tries and fails to escape from his binds and cover his neck on instincts.

She flicks her gaze to Checkered Suit, who calmly walks over to the man and says one more phrase to the man and fires again, this time into his head.

She sighs as she waits for the men to leave after they finish burying the body in the crudely dug, shallow grave. By the time they do, she gets an interesting idea to see if the dead man has anything worth of value. Jumping from her ledge, she moves toward the freshly covered grave and proceeds to dig with the shovel that the Khan left nearby.

She pulled him out and started searching his pockets. As she moves toward his torn breast pocket, she feels a light elevation in the man's chest.

"That can't be right?" she mutters aloud in confusion, moving closer to the nose, but not close enough to get blood on herself, she feels light breathing. Feeling for a pulse, she pulls her hand back quickly as she feels one.

' _HE SURVIVED A DOUBLE TAP?'_ She shouted in her head as her breathing escalated. She knew it was a long shot for him to survive alone, so she does her best to stop the bleeding, but to no avail.

Suddenly, she hears a wheel and mechanical whirl behind her. Drawing her .44 magnum revolver from her holster, she spins around and levels the pistol at the robot behind her.

She immediately falters and lowers the revolver before steadying it again at the Securitron in front her. It had a happy looking cowboy with a cigarette in his mouth on the monitor in its body.

"Howdy little lady! Looks like you got yourself in a pickle. Those New Vegas types aren't the merciful bunch." Jayden gives a double take on the robot, pinching herself so she's not hallucinating.

She snaps out of it quickly, "Quick! Robot, this man is still alive but losing blood fast. He needs proper medical attention." She takes a short look at the man on the ground, then looks back at the robot.

The screen glitches a bit and the robot turns slightly toward the man on the ground, then back to Jayden.

"Miss, the name's Victor," he says a little annoyed at being called robot. "And I'll be happy to help your friend out." He finishes in a cheery tone.

It moves forward a bit and extends its arms and picks up the man roughly, knocking him around and letting the blood ooze onto its metal plating, not seeming to notice its navy-blue shoulder now a dark crimson.

"Let's head to Goodsprings." It says, its voice still cheerful despite how serious the situation is. "I know a good doctor there that will patch him up good as new." And with that Victor took off down the trail towards the small town.

Jayden only nods at the robot and follows, unsure of why it's helping a dying human, but too tired to argue or ask questions.

' _This is gonna be a long week.'_ She sighed inwardly, looking to the drinks at the saloon.


	3. A Whole New Perspective

**AN: This is my first Fanfic ever, of all time. It may be good it may be bad, so reviews are appreciated.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own nor will I ever own the Fallout series. That's Bethesda's job not mine.**

 **XXXXXXXXX**

He slowly grew conscious, his eyes still closed. His head hurt like he just got hit by two Super Mutants in the head at the same time. The only pain he felt other than the brain splitting headache was the sandpapery, scraping in his throat every time he breathed.

Feeling brave, he decided to open his eyes. A renewed pain smashed into his eyes, his vision blurry and he snapped his eyes shut again quickly to avoid another migraine. Eventually the pain subsided after what felt like a year, but in reality, it was only a few minutes. He thought he heard footsteps far away, and instinctively moved his hand toward his hip, only to find that it hurt to move his arm and he his .44 Revolver was not there.

 _'_ _What happened?'_ He thought, his breathing escalated, only to find that the pain in his throat increased every time he took fast breaths.

More worried than scared, he decided to open his eyes again and keep them open. As he opened his blurry vision slowly went away, and nausea hit him in the stomach. Fighting the urge to throw up on his back, he slowly started to build up his strength to get up. Upon starting to sit in an upright position, he heard the sound of running footsteps that grew louder. Sharply turning his head to the new sound, he was reminded of the pain in his head and throat all at once.

"Easy there." Said a soft unknown voice. "You've been out cold for a couple of weeks now. Started to convince myself that you were brain dead."

The Courier opened his mouth to speak, but found no voice. Panicking, he reached slowly to his throat and felt a rather large indentation in his throat, where his Adam's Apple would be. He started to feel slowly in his throat, then move up to the spot where his head hurt, no indent but a very angry scar that hurt to the touch. He then looked at the man who was now sitting next to him and studied him. He was an old man with light skin, he had bald head with a white moustache. He looked at the old man with a questioning look.

The old man picked up the unspoken question and told him about his injuries. "Well my friend, it seems you dodged a bullet, Err… well… figuratively speaking of course." He smirked a bit at his little joke, "I'm Doc Mitchell but most people call me Doc, welcome to Goodsprings stranger." He said smiling, but then put on a serious expression.

"I'm sorry but it appears you have been shot in the head and throat. I took the liberty on removing the bits of lead out of each area, but found myself unable to fix the damage in your throat and noggin." He took a deep breath, giving a warning of bad news to the man. "I'm afraid you won't be able to speak again."

The news was obvious to The Courier, but it still hit him like an angry Bighorner Bull. He sat back dejectedly, trying to cope with the loss of his voice. Though it hurt like Hell and he was glad the good doc saved his life, and his ability to breath. He sighed sadly, but another revelation came to him: he didn't know his name or anything for that matter, all he remembered was a bright flash and nothing else. Doc Mitchell coughed and shook the man from his worried musing.

He handed him a piece of aged paper with burned edges and a worn-down pencil. "So, I'm gonna ask you a few basic questions and have you write them down on this here paper." The Courier nodded and took the items from the good doctor.

"First thing first, what's your name? Do you know what your name is?"

The Courier frowned and wrote 'I don't know' rather sloppily on the paper, then showed it to the Doc.

Doc frowned at this and got up and walked over to a rusted footlocker on the other end of the room and removed a piece of paper from it. He then walked over to The Courier and handed him the paper, "You can still read, right?"

The Courier nodded and read the paper, looking for any identification. But to his disappointment, he found it was a delivery order, something about a platinum chip being sent to the New Vegas strip and yadda, yadda, yadda. The only thing that identified his was the name Courier Six. He felt disappointed, being only identified as a number, but made the most of it and wrote something on the paper.

'I don't know my real name, but just call me Six.' And with that small sentence of messy handwriting, he showed it to Doc and he smiled brightly, "Well it's nice to meet you Six, hopefully you will remember, given time." Six nodded and wrote down a question of if the Doc had more questions for him.

Doc nodded and asked another question, "How old are you?" Six knew this question, strangely, he was 24 years old and wrote that down. The Doc smiled more and continued asking him more questions about himself and the wasteland, most of the questions about his past he didn't know, but his memory of the Mojave was still there. After a good 30 minutes of questioning, the good doctor seemed content with his little "interrogation" and moved onto the next elephant in the room.

"Let's get you on your feet and see if you can get your bearings." Slowly helping Six up.

Six head exploded with dizziness and nausea, to top that off, his vision blurred. After standing and regaining his composure after a few minutes, his vision cleared and the nausea and dizziness went away, leaving him only a light headache and what felt like a sore throat he was going to have forever. While Doc was powering up a strange machine on the far edge of the room, Six walked over to a grimy and slightly cracked mirror. He was shocked to see that he looked rather OK for what he went through. His short brown hair was cut to regulation, this confused him.

' _Was I a Trooper for some time?'_ He shook his head of that thought, though he knew the NCR meant well, he still felt that they over expanded and took things by force in order to satisfy their growing nation. His gaze lingered on the hair before looking at himself in the eyes, light blue eyes stared back at him. Content because he liked his eye color and saw that it hadn't changed by some freak incident. He looked down to his beard, what was once short and clean shave, was now scraggly, he made a mental note to trim it back down to its original look. He then noticed the fairly large and still raw looking scar, above his right eye in the middle of his forehead. It seemed to scream at him, telling him how it was going to stick with him forever. He didn't care, he thought it made him look like a badass, a look that says: "Hey! I survived a Goddamn gunshot to the head, don't fuck with me." That when he heard Doc clear his throat.

"If your done gawking at yourself in my mirror, come over here so I can run some more tests." He said chuckling a bit.

Six felt his face redden and he blushed at being caught admiring himself in the mirror. Walking over to the machine he read the sign. _'What the Hell's a Vigor Tester?'_

"This machine here will monitor your vitals or something along those lines, it's Pre-War tech so I'm still confused on how it works. But hey, it gets the job done."

Six shot him a glare that seemed to criticize Doc's lack of knowledge on machine and grabbed the handle and made a few adjustments to what the Doc called: his S.P.E.C.I.A.L. Then he stuck his arm in the slot and the machine injected a fluid that altered him to match the stats that he put in the machine. Feeling reinvigorated, he followed the doctor to the next room.

"Take a seat on the couch, I have a couple more tes… I mean... questions to ask you and a form for you to fill out!" He said rather quickly. Six sighed and sat down.

' _This is gonna be one long check-up'_ He chuckled inwardly, and despite what has happened to him, he felt himself do something he never would do: he smiled.

But then dropped it to a sad look when the good doctor kept asking him questions over and over again, seemingly not stopping for breath.

He sighed for what felt 20th time today and got comfortable in his seat.

 _'_ _This is going to be one interesting day when I get out of here.'_


	4. Friends in Small Places

**AN: This is my first Fanfic ever, of all time. It may be good it may be bad, so reviews are appreciated.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own nor will I ever own the Fallout series. That's Bethesda's job not mine.**

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After what felt like a few hours of "questioning," Six was finally preparing to leave Doc's house and find out what happened to him. As he followed Doc to the entrance of the house the Doc picked up a duffel bag filled to the brim with weapons, armor, and medical supplies.

"This bag is full of the things that was on you when you were dragged in by that lady and securitron, damn thing still got your blood on it." Doc said with a look of disgust about the last part.

Six took a seat and opened the duffel bag and emptied the contents on the floor in front of his chair. Inside was battle scarred, standard combat armor, a dark trench coat dotted with bullet holes, a black desperado hat, a custom .44 Revolver with an improved grip and glowing sights, a couple or rounds of .44 ammo, some Stimpacks, and Rad-Away. He got up and slid the combat armor on and fit the trench coat over the armor, it seemed to fit perfectly together. He put the revolver inside the trench coats built in holster, and slid the rounds, Stimpacks, and Rad-Away in the coats pockets.

"All set?" Asked Doc Mitchell, as he looked at him with a mixture of pride and awe. "I think I do a good job in patching up people who can pull of that look." He finished with a wink. Six just smiled and nodded his head in thanks, then put on the desperado hat to complete his badass getup.

"Also, I think you should have this," Doc said as he held up a strange looking device. "This device here's a Pip-Boy, I grew up in one of them Vaults and then moved here after a while, ain't got no use for it now, just sits in my closet and collects dust." He handed the device to Six and he looked at it in surprise. Pip-Boys are priceless relics of the Pre-War era, only few individuals carried around Pip-Boys, other than Vault Dwellers.

Six strapped the device on and looked at it on his wrist, ' _It looks like it belongs there.'_ He thought with a smile, then moved to turn the Pip-Boy on.

"Now before you turn it on…" Doc's words were cut short when Six pressed the on button. Six felt a small prick in his wrist under his Pip-Boy and felt a sharp sting all over his body. He tensed as it felt like someone hit him with an electrified baton or a Pre-War Taser. He buckled to his knees and held his head, the sting, along with the bullet wound, hurt his head the most and it felt like he was going to black out. But as fast as it hit him, it stopped, and he looked down at his Pip-Boy and saw it was done initializing. He shot the Doc a questioning glare through haggard breaths. The good doctor immediately looked guilty and apologized.

"I'm sorry, I should have remembered that would happen. You see, what just happened was the Pip-Boy linking up with your bloodstream to monitor your heartbeat, and thus your vitals. The sharp stinging you felt was the Pip-Boy also linking up with your nervous system. This allows you to use the V.A.T.S, or the Vault-tec Assisted Targeting System. V.A.T.S. is a unique system that gives your brain more energy, making the world seem slow but, in reality, your brain processes information at a faster rate than before. In order for it to work, hit that green button with the target on it and it should work."

Six blinked, then looked shook his head to clear his thoughts and continued tinkering with his new "toy." He supposed that when he was in a life-threatening situation, he would use this system to his advantage, also as a surprise. He lifted his arm p and placed it on the good doctor's shoulder and gave him a squeeze of thanks. As he turned toward the door, Doc called his name.

"Before you leave, you might want to see that lady and the robot and see who done this to you, I'm not one to advocate revenge, but since you survived getting shot in the head and neck, I just thought you might want to even the score, since you'll never speak again." He said rather bluntly and Six winced. Doc seemed to pick up on this and apologized for being rude.

"Although, there might be someone who could fix the talking problem you have, just look for a man named Doctor Henry, I don't know where he is, but I heard he deals with the brain and other fancy mumbo jumbo. Might be able to get you a voice modulator." He said curiously, as if he didn't know what Henry was capable of.

"Well off you go, come back if your head starts hurting… Hold on one sec, seems I forgot to give you your medication." He said as he walked off in a hurry. ' _Medication?_ ' He thought worriedly as he heard the Doc humming a tune from the other room. After five minutes or so, the doctor came back with a doctor's bag. He plopped it on the table and opened it, inside was a neat row of Med-X.

"Take half a dose of Med-X every day, no more no less, it will not get you addicted and will be just enough to mask the pain of the migraines you will receive periodically." He said in a professional tone.

Six just sighed, _'Great, I'm on pain medication for the rest of my life, at least it didn't cost me caps.'_ He shook Doc's hand and headed out into the wastes, only to be blinded by the sun.

When his vision returned to normal, he took a syringe of Med-X and injected half a dose into his thigh where his artery is. After a minute or so, he felt better and the throbbing in his head clear. As he pocketed the syringe, he looked up and saw a robot with a dried patch of blood on his shoulder plate. _'must be the robot who dragged me in to Doc.'_ He walked up the robot casually and raised his hand in greeting. The robot must have noticed and rolled over to him, a friendly cowboy on his monitor in his chest.

"Howdy Partner, might I say you look fit as a fiddle today." He said in a cheerful, old-western accent, "I'm Victor, a pleasure to meet you when you are conscious."

Six eyes widened as it was going to be hard to ask or talk to anyone other than a pen or pencil and a piece of paper. _'It's going to be a long day.'_

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Six walked off in an obviously annoyed pace, he huffed to himself and recalled what Victor told him: he was shot and left for dead and was found with a woman over his body. He was slightly interested in why there was a woman over his body when Victor found him. ' _Is she my sister, wife, girlfriend, good friend?'_ The list went on forever, but he needed to see her, and Victor said she was last seen in the saloon.

Six mentally sighed and checked his trench coat for caps, he found a small pouch with that familiar jingle jangle of caps clinking together. By the weight, he figured there must've been at least 50 caps in the pouch. ' _It'll have to do.'_

As he opened to door to the saloon after talking to the nice old man sitting outside, he heard what must have been arguing, as he rounded the corner, he saw a man in a NCRCF outfit and realized he was a Powder Ganger. The man was threatening a lady, who he figured was the saloon owner, about getting a man or burning the town down if they don't get him.

Six watched in disgust and wrinkled his face, he pulled out his revolver and loaded two shells into two of the six chambers, just in case it got messy.

"I don't know who you are talking about, but if you aren't here to buy, then leave." She said with a hint of annoyance. The man snarled and stepped back, then did something he shouldn't have. He punched the lady in the face, hard enough to knock someone out if they were not expecting it. As the lady fell, Six just stared, not believing what had just happened. After the initial shock wore of he raised his revolver and pulled back the hammer in an audible click.

"What the Hell…" was all the man could say before his face filled with fear as he saw the barrel of the revolver in his face. Six made a tsking noise and pulled the trigger.

 **BANG**

Six smirked a little as the man fell to the floor with a large hole in between the eyes. _'No way he's getting up after that.'_ He joked in his head. His attention then turned to the lady on the floor, who was being helped up by another woman. Six just nodded to the two and sat down at the barstool and went on inspecting his revolver. He took out the discarded shell and tossed it on the man's corpse, he looked at the barrel of the custom revolver. He noticed a word engraved on the side of it: Hope. Then he noticed the woman who helped up the saloon owner sat down next to him and looked at him suspiciously.

"Well you sure know how to make an entrance." She said with a small chuckle, "I'm Jaiden, the one who found your sorry ass on death's door. Welcome back to the land of the living."


End file.
